


On the Issues of Intimacy and Alcoholism

by sandsalt (legacyofbast)



Series: Hopes and Bridges [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Fluff and Smut, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29026719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legacyofbast/pseuds/sandsalt
Summary: It had always seemed to Scout that intimacy laid in the sex itself—partly in it, but not always—but he couldn’t even fathom caressing someone’s hands, playing with them, studying them furtively, would be the climax of their intimacy.
Relationships: Scout/Sniper (Team Fortress 2)
Series: Hopes and Bridges [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136336
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	On the Issues of Intimacy and Alcoholism

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [О вопросах пьянства и близости](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25330891) by [legacyofbast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/legacyofbast/pseuds/legacyofbast). 



> This is my first attempt at /completed/ translation from Russian into English. So. You’ve been warned. My apologies. [ugly crying]

Scout would never have thought he could _love_ Sniper’s hands. Always rough, always warm, never causing pain. Large, sinewy hands, hot and dry palms with long fingers. With calluses on the thumb and index finger of the right hand, persistent hematoma on the thumbnail. It had always seemed to Scout that intimacy laid in the sex itself—partly in it, but not always—but he couldn’t even fathom caressing someone’s hands, playing with them, studying them furtively, would be the climax of _their_ intimacy.

Sniper often caressed him—caressed his face, and Scout would let him every time. More than that, he returned the gesture by burying his face in his hand (which was the size of his face), hugging it with his own hands, stroking the protruding dark blue veins. And then, one day, when he got quite bold, he pressed his lips to the rough skin. Of course, he got embarrassed. Of course, he got scared. He didn’t dare look the man in the eye as they sat side by side, facing each other, at the kitchen table late at night, after lights out. The pad of Sniper’s thumb caressed his brow in a familiar gesture—and he looked up at him with his confused, wet, and bright eyes.

Dark lights danced in blue-gray eyes hiding behind the aviators. An open bottle of tequila was on the table. Sniper, without taking his eyes off the kid, reached and took a sip. Scout stared at the large adam’s apple moving under the bristly skin and swallowed himself. He watched without taking his eyes off. Sniper noticed this and hid his small smile with a slight arch of an eyebrow.

“That’s new,” Sniper croaked low and warmly.

Scout didn’t know what to say. He just snorted, squinting, looking away. They were drunk—drunk on alcohol, drunk on warmth, drunk on closeness. “Fuck off,” he chuckled affectionately, letting go of his hand.

“Aw-w,” Sniper drawled, melting. “Are you embarrassed, kiddo?”

“What? Nah.” Scout frowned, resting his elbows on his knees. “Thought you were into this stuff with hands.”

Sniper chuckled, hiding his gaze behind the brim of his slouch hat. “I thought _you_ were.”

“Fuck off,” Scout hissed, even more embarrassed.

Sniper noticed his flushed cheeks and reached for him again. “It’s alright,” he touched the kid’s cheekbone with his phalanges of his index and middle fingers gently, and covered his sunken cheek with his palm again. Scout was melting. He closed his eyes, leaning against man’s palm, and his recent anger vanished in an instant. If he were sober, he would’ve wished he hadn’t been here at all, and the thought of the abnormality of what was happening was looming somewhere, but he didn’t want to stop. Sniper didn’t stop. “It’s alright.”

Sniper spoke almost in a whisper, moving closer. He didn’t take his eyes off Scout—he rarely saw him so sincere and open. He wanted to remember this, although he drank much more.

“Kiddo,” Sniper said, smiling affectionately as he reached out and cupped his face in both hands. “Bloody gorgeous you are,” he began to say it in a silly and kind way, caressing his eyebrow. “So gorgeous.”

Scout chuckled, squinting in a smile, flashing a cheeky grin. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about, you’re drunk,” but he still didn’t look him in the eye.

“An’ a bastard,” man continued with the same intonation, nodding to him.

“Yep, that’s who I am,” kid said smugly.

Sniper laughed deeply and gutturally. That sound made Scout’s stomach heat up.

“You’re not sober either,” Sniper didn’t stop his movements. “Oh, what am I doing— getting ankle-biter drunk.”

“I’m not an _ankle-biter_ ,” Scout bristled, frowning amusingly. “Oh, yeah, and not a kid either. And not a _baby_!”

“Whatever you say, little roo,” Sniper nodded gravely, removing his other hand, and Scout couldn’t help but laugh merrily.

Scout took Sniper’s right hand in both of his and butted his forehead into it. And then he kissed it again—timidly and awkwardly. Sniper didn’t speak. He himself was afraid—he didn’t want to ruin the moment, didn’t fully know how to act. Therefore… he accepted everything as it is. The touch of warm and slightly wet lips on dry, rough skin felt like a very fleeting touch of the summer wind, but that was enough—and it was… pleasant. He didn’t know how to describe it to himself, but he was pleased beyond measure.

Scout looked down at the floor. Sniper started to reach for him again, but Scout started, catching his hand, and pressed his lips to his knuckles in a wet, sensual, sincere kiss. He didn’t break away. He frowned a little, putting all the admiration that overwhelmed him he could muster into the gesture.

The man clenched his jaw, slightly shifting in his chair, not taking his eyes from the kid. Yes, that really was new. But God saw it wasn’t unfamiliar.

Scout hesitantly pulled away from his hand, looking up at Sniper with his wet, sparkling blue eyes.

“You don’t hate it? What I’m doin’.”

Sniper shook his head, covering his eyes.

“I—I can… yeah?” Scout cringed at his own words.

Sniper nodded, smiling a little, silently assuring him that everything was okay. Scout returned to his hand, turning the inner side of it towards himself, and then, pulling it closer, gently touched man’s upper phalanges of the index and middle fingers with his lips. Sniper leaned back in his chair, rubbing his lips with his free hand, not taking eyes off the sight. It wasn’t just the alcohol that was making his blood boil. Kid didn’t stop. He covered the pads with small and tender kisses, and then moved lower, touching the phalanges again, lower, touching the palm itself and the calluses from the rifle. The skin was dry, rough, and hot. Something burned behind Scout’s sternum from this scorching heat, enveloping him, warming him up, encouraging him, throbbing in his groin.

Sniper did not dare to move his hand, did not dare to ruin this unintentional closeness, this tenderness. Yes, no one had ever done that to him before. It was new, unusual, awkward, embarrassing, nice, good, _good_. He was glad he was wearing aviators. The other way he wouldn’t know where to hide his eyes. But he closed them anyway, and let out a small sigh as he felt a careful, wet grip with lips on two of his fingers.

His tongue slid up and down, and then Scout moved a little lower, trying to keep his teeth out of the way.

Kid… was sucking his fingers. Realization shot through the man’s brain as suddenly as possible, and the Sniper’s eyes widened in mild panic, realizing he was getting hard.

Scout tried. God, he tried. He was pouring all the feelings he had into movements, kissing, licking, sucking, occasionally biting—very gently, barely perceptible, and it made Sniper’s whole body swim. No, he drank enough. He cleared his throat and took off his glasses, pressing the back of his free hand to his eyes, rubbing them painfully.

“Snipes?” they were both panting, flushed. Scout’s eyes glittered drunkenly, and he looked up from his doing for a moment. “Snipes, d’you want me to stop?”

“No,” he breathed out deeply, collar of his shirt moving near his throat. He took his hand away from his eyes. “No.”

Sniper swallowed dryly as Scout continued. He grew bolder—he even scratched the phalanx of the middle finger with his upper teeth, touching the pad of the finger with his tongue, caressing man’s wrist and palm with his smaller and thinner hands, going down along the protruding veins. He pulled back and pressed his lips to the calluses again.

“Do you like that?” Scout asked in a stupid but sincere way. He really wanted to know. He wanted to make him feel good.

“Yeah… yeah, I like that, kiddo,” he still held his free hand near his face, and Scout could see the dark blue of his glittering eyes, which was usually hidden behind aviators. His eyes were half-closed, his lashes fluttering. Scout didn’t know how tightly Sniper was clenching his jaw, trying not to lose control.

Scout just smiled openly, exhaling and nodding, and kissed his knuckles again.

 _What are you doing to me, you mongrel,_ Sniper wanted to say, and he didn’t.

Scout stared at him, sly and smug, his grin creeping up, and Sniper shook his head in disapproval.

“That’s, that’s enough, Jerry,” Sniper said suddenly, shifting, lowering his voice, taking away his hand, hiding his eyes behind the brim of his hat. And throwing one leg over the other, trying to somehow hide the bulging boner.

Kid kept his roguish blue gaze fixed on him. “Are you embarrassed, _Mickey_?” Scout teased.

Sniper growled in displeasure, his lip curling. He hated the mangling of his name, and Scout knew it.

“So you are into this stuff with hands,” he pointed out sarcastically.

“Bugger,” Sniper made a sound like a hoarse roar. He was hot, and he wasn’t going to cool down.

“Y’know, I still wanna try something,” Scout raised an eyebrow and moved closer to mentally shielded Sniper. Yes, he was definitely going to break his shields today. Today, he was quite emboldened. “May I?”

Sniper stared at him for a moment, rolled his eyes, and unable to hold back an affectionate and satisfied smile, nodded.

Kid wrapped his thin, clinging arms around man’s broad shoulders and slid onto his lap.


End file.
